Personal Demons
by Nikocal
Summary: Ruby has shown her true colors- what will Sam do? Just how much has he changed? And what will Dean have to do because of it? Evil Sam, sort of. Like the conflict from Metamorphosis and Bad Sign put together. It's fun, I promise. : Character death.


Gah, hold on. This is my first fic, so please bear with me.

Obviously, I don't own Supernatural, any of the lovely characters, blah blah- I just borrow them for while, offer them my headspace to live in, you know... And about the head space, I've had no other input on this fic, just little ol' me, so please tell me what you think. I mean, I think its great, but I'm kinda biased, so... *puppy eyes* please review? Constructive critiscisms welcome. I worked pretty hard to get this right, I'd like to know if it was effective, impactful, etc, and how I could make it better. Thanks!

I wanted to write a fic about Sam and Ruby's relationship last week, so I decided to go with evil Ruby, mostly because I don't think she's evil, and thought it'd be a nice switch-up. It's not really so much about Ruby as it is Sam and Dean of course, she's just a catalyst (its what she does best:). I read somewhere on the boards that someone thought Sam would be totally messed up if Ruby _did_ turn out to be bad. I thought that was interesting and ran with it. He did trust her after all, whatever you think of Ruby, nearly as much as Dean (more, really, he since he never trusted him with the whole demon blood-powers thing, after all). And mostly, because I wanted Sam to go totally, emotionally ka-blooie! Boom. It's fun. Hee. There's not much exposition here, it just jumps right into the middle of the scene, and goes from there. Hope that works, just couldn't see it any other way.

Big, big inspiration from the Dresden Files (cuz our favorite wizard is alway getting tempted) and Rob Thurman's Cal Leandros Books, the first of which is Nightlife, which you might not have heard of, but should totally go check out. Definitely on par with Mr. Butchers work. Amazon. Go now. Er, after reading the story, that is. Thanks for reading!

_"If I had my way,  
I'd burn this whole building down,"  
Samson and Delilah_

"Go ahead, say it." Sam said bitterly. The motel room was dark, but for the solitary lamp on the far bedside table and the fallout from nearby streetlights. The room was occasionally washed in the pale light of passing headlights, throwing the shadows into high relief.

"Sam-" Dean had a pained look on his face. Worried. Concerned. Sam couldn't see it. He was filled with the image of Ruby stepping toward him, her hands covered in blood. He felt sick.

"Bring it on, Dean. This has got to be like Christmas for you. You were right- right about everything. Go on, then. Tell me what an idiot I've been. How wrong. How I never should have trusted a demon." Sam's face twisted into an ugly expression. His brother was at a loss for words. But the look on his face was enough. Sam had expected him to be angry, throwing punches. He hadn't seen this coming- this quiet sadness, the shock and disappointment. Hadn't imagined it could hurt far more.

Sam should have known, should have seen it- how could he have been so blind? A _demon_- who had also been his teacher, his ally when he was alone, his friend when his family was gone, and- and… Sam couldn't bear to think- the recriminations he had seen in Dean's eyes, the disgust. And after he'd been given his brother back, pure miracle- after he'd given up hope that he would ever see his brother again. Had never expected to have to face, ever again, the consequences of what it took to survive without him.

A demon. And he trusted her. She had led him out of the darkness, damning him all the way. How could he have thought, for an instant- How could he have wanted to- After what she'd done? _Oh god. I never wanted it to go this far._

She'd betrayed him.

And with that thought came anger. So much raw confusion and shame, it came in a rage that burned. The backlash from everything he would not let himself feel. It seethed and roiled like a tempest, and it burst forth as if from a crumbling dam- Sam felt helpless to stop it. Dean found himself unable to keep from taking a step back against the motel bed. He had never seen his little brother like this, so… so _vengeful._ Had never thought he'd see him so close to the edge.

The television exploded, in a cascading shower of burning light.

"Shit," Dean hissed. Sam barely noticed, raising his eyes toward him. The look in them was murderous. And strange. They seemed somehow… _more_ than he'd ever seen them. More alive, more deadly. And so very, very dark. But they were still Sam, only a side of him he'd never seen. Or at least, been on the receiving end of. And they were cold, Dean thought, shivering.

Sure, he'd always known Sam could be calculating, deadly, ruthless on the hunt. But not like this. Not his Sam.

Hell, he'd had an aptitude for hunting from the first- he'd taken after the rest of his family in that respect. Like father, like sons. But... Sammy had always worked a little differently, researching his target thoroughly, their weaknesses, taking them out methodically- something John had encouraged. _Stalking his prey. Dear God._

Sam had an odd grace for a hunter, Dean thought, his lanky form quiet and fatal. It made him a much better at it, maybe even better than Dean himself, who relied on adrenaline and strength and maybe a little luck to save his ass time and time again. It was hard to see- he _made_ it hard to see- the way Sam… waffled, really, like a big dog that didn't want to seem so tall, slinking down in fear of its own shadow… He wondered now, that Sam had left, years ago. Had he known, somehow, even then? Dean wondered now, that his kind-hearted, geeky little brother had so emphatically pursued normal, so desperately questioned every hunt, every monster.

He'd read somewhere, once, that if you looked into an abyss, it looked into you, too. That it changed you. That you took a part of it away with you. That had always bothered him.

An abyss had looked into Sam when he was six months old.

In a way, Dean could see the culmination of everything his brother could become, as Azazel must have been able to see long before. A leonine predator, so much more than he was now; how _fearful_ they would be, how cowed before him.

Dean hadn't been able to imagine it before; no matter how many times both sides said it. Had never believed that Sammy could be capable of what they warned him of. It broke his heart a little more, to see it now. _I might have to... no. No. I won't let it go there. I can't._

"Sammy, stop it." Dean's voice was quiet with strain. "Just… stop."

Sam saw his brother's eyes and the expression in them- it was so strange, it scared him. All at once, the anger eked out, and ebbed away. It left him drained, and so empty… more weary than he could stand. And so very old, with the weight of everything dragging him down. What was _wrong_ with him? The way Dean had looked at him… He felt dizzy suddenly. He stumbled to the bed and sat heavily.

Sam hadn't cried in a long time, not even at Dean's burial, and even through those four hellish months. (It made him guilty to even think it, but he'd put Dean's time of it against his own, and measure them inch for inch.) He'd refused to let himself feel anything, couldn't, or it would surely devour him whole. He felt like crying now, from sheer exhaustion. He felt so cut-off… He still prayed, but... he got the feeling God wasn't listening anymore. Dean was the only thing he cared about now, but how could he stand to look at him after this?

Dean eyed him cautiously, chewing his lower lip. Sam looked so damn tired, which was really saying something, since his only basis for comparison was himself. Maybe he should have been easier on Sam. He'd just seemed to be so… _together_ when Dean came back. Like it was no big deal. The thought still ached, deep inside. Like Sam didn't need him at all.

When... when Dean still had nightmares (when he wasn't having other nightmares), of Sam flat out on a stained mattress, eyes not seeing, still and pale- he looked cold, he didn't want Sammy to be cold, but didn't know what to do... He always would be, now.

He would wake up then, bile rising in his throat, and stare at his brother's form in the darkness, not breathing until he saw him move...

But Sam- He had seemed to be doing better when Dean saw him: healthy as a horse, obviously spending time outside the motel room, with women, no less... That should have tipped him off right there, he thought wryly. And what Sammy had done to his car- pure butchery. That must have been Ruby's doing, too. Because, after all, where does shacking up with demons fall when you've done _that._

And Dean had gotten the feeling that Sam wasn't quite happy to see him... was strangely closed down... And now he knew why. Because he'd left him alone, for four months, with a demon who had dark eyes and soft looks. Sam always was a sucker for a pretty face.

He should have known better, known something was wrong. Should have been a better brother. Dean's gut twisted painfully. He wasn't exactly sure what Ruby was to Sam, or what they'd done- in his absence, and after. But he could connect the dots. And now... Ruby had lost.

At that, a savage joy spread through him like wildfire. His brother had made the right choice, despite everything. He had remember what Dean had taught him. One thing was for sure, he was going to make that bitch pay for every second she spent with his little brother.

And then... Dean suddenly remembered what his father used to say, his rough voice rising up out of the weight of years- _Pride goeth, Dean. Don't get cocky._ He felt his mental grin subside at that. Ruby may have lost, but it had been very close. And his little brother was grieving.

A part of him was indignant at that, and jealous, that she warranted more hurt than his own death did. Dean studied him again, and the voice died rather abruptly. Sam looked utterly lost. He could almost understand it- the one person Sam had let himself trust, probably the only person he had ever trusted as much as family, hadn't been a good person.

Dean felt a surge of fiercely protective outrage, a need to shelter his brother from harm, like an innocent. _Not so innocent, anymore,_ he thought, and couldn't help but think he had failed. He never had been quite good enough, after all. Another voice, and louder, said, _Tread carefully, he's hurting._

"What do you want to do, Sam?" The elder Winchester said gently.

_Nothing._ "What we do. Kill her." He said darkly, eyeing the smoldering wreckage of the television set.

Dean took a deep breath, and crouched in front of Sam. "Sammy, you're not…" He faltered as Sam met his eyes, then forced himself to continue, briskly, "You aren't alone, Sam. You know, I haven't always been…" He paused again, and then said quickly, his voice thick. "I'm sorry. Sorry I haven't been better."

He stood abruptly and turned away. Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in an unconscious mimicry of Sam's usual gesture. "What the hell happened, Sam? You haven't been real clear on that." He added sharply. _No, you just showed up, after disappearing for hours, covered with blood. Some of it yours._

Sam looked at his hands. It was a struggle to say anything at all. "There was this warehouse- abandoned. Old." There had been blood, and smoke, and too little light. "It was Ruby, she- I don't know, I guess you could say she made me an offer." _All along, one of them._

Dean stared at him. "An offer," he said. "Involving blood." _A lot of it._

"Yes."

Sam's calm answer was too much. "Damn it, Sam. Who's?" _What did you do?_

Sam looked away. "Sam, who's blood was it?" Dean said desperately.

"I- I don't know." Sam said finally. "It was a ritual of some kind… the blood was there-" He glanced at Dean. "Sans-people."

"Uh-huh. And what did she want?" He asked dryly.

Sam didn't answer, and wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Well, what did you say?" Dean said, his voice growing louder. "You said she made you an offer, Sam, what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything. I-" _didn't trust myself to._ "I ran."

Dean's head dropped slightly, in a nod, and he pressed a hand to his eyes. "Good man." He said gruffly, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Sam paused a moment, then said, quietly, "You know, I used to imagine… an end, to the fighting, and that I'd move on after but now…" His eyes searched upward, and they shone with moisture, "I can't imagine anything else, or going back… There's nothing to go back to, now. And I thought, what would it be like not to care at all, not to worry, to change whatever I wanted. The things I could do. Kill Lilith," he said, a quiet yearning in his voice, hands tightening into fists, and then releasing wide as he exhaled. "End the war. That kind of power, the things I could do with it." His voice deepened, hoarse. He glanced up at Dean, and gave him a one-sided smile- eerie as hell. "What… fun… it'd be." His smile trembled then, and he looked down at his hands, snorting softly.

"How do you know?" Dean asked, his voice raw.

"What," Sam said flatly.

"That it would be fun." Dean forced out, his jaw tight.

"How do I know?" He said slowly, staring off into the distance. His brow furrowed slightly as if it hadn't occurred to him to wonder, to track that moment when the thought had first entered his head. Dean wondered how he could have forgotten.

"That demon- when I was possessed- I told you I was awake for some of it. Everything-" He paused a breath, thinking back to when he had been forced to kill a man, to torture his brother and his friend. He had felt the demon's gleeful, wild abandon in destruction- it _sang_, that fury, it coursed through the blood like an ambrosia, like sunshine.

The strength of it terrifying- the savage need for blood just to bury the pain a _hunger _that surpassed everything else. Familiar now. "Everything demons do is for fun. Lilith's…vacations… should have shown you that."

Something fractured in his eyes then, an odd pain, and he buried his head in his hands, laughing brokenly. "God, can you hear me? Fun. So much goddamned fun. What the hell is wrong with me?" Dean stared at him. He had failed his brother. He'd lost him. _God, Sammy, I'm so sorry._ His throat tightened with misery.

A bit of crimson on his brother's hands startled him. Blood was twining delicately around his right wrist, and dripping down his fingers to the floor. His right arm- that was the one he usually used. "Did you try to exorcise her?"

Sam thought for a second. "Might have. I don't really remember. She was pretty intent on completing the ritual, whether I wanted to or not."

Dean moved over to him, and rolled up the bloody cuff of his shirt, Sam hissed in pain. There was a nasty slash on his arm, going all the way from the a few inches above his elbow to mid-forearm. Sam hadn't even noticed.

"She must have grazed me with the knife," he said numbly. He remembered all the times Ruby had patched him up when he couldn't force himself to care. Dean growled in response, and went to get some gauze. He worked quietly, recalling a distant time when the worst he had to cope with was a band-aid on a skinned knee.

Dean said quietly, "They call it temptation for a reason, Sam. You're a good person."

"Am I?" Sam said desperately. "I have as much in common with them as I do with you. Ow." He complained as Dean pulled the bandage too tightly, clearing his throat in a way that sounded suspiciously like the word 'bullshit'.

Dean continued, "Hell, Sammy, you're a better person than me most of the time."

"Did you know my blood will de-sanctify holy water?"

Startled, Dean's gaze flickered up to him, then back to the dressing. Sam could hear him baring his teeth as he spoke. "Shit, that's a fun little fact. How…?"

"You don't want to know. It wasn't so fun finding out. Nearly got me killed." Ruby had saved his life then. He continued, quietly. "Those months, when you were gone… You were right, I had been walking down a dark road. I was treading a line I couldn't even see anymore. I was…" His hand tightened into a fist. "I was so angry…" _At you, at myself. If I hadn't listened to you, you wouldn't have died._ It had been tearing him apart. "I had no one left to care what I did, least of all me, and Ruby… Well."

When Dean had appeared at his door, with Bobby no less- he had refused to believe it at first, he'd been so sure he would never see his brother alive again.

And when he'd dared to hope, a flare of panic, at what his brother would do if he ever found out what his little brother had been up to, muted the furious joy in his heart. But… just seeing his face again… it was like some ceaseless pressure had been lifted, as if gravity had ceased to exist. And then guilt, and fear, came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. Gravity re-instated.

Dean was growling again. It was a sound like far-off thunder. "When I catch that manipulative bitch, I swear-"

Sam glanced at him sharply. He said flatly, without inflection, "I wouldn't be here, right now, if it weren't for her. I would be dead." Dean looked away. Standing, he began to pack away the first aid gear.

"Your arm's all set."

"Good." Sam continued. He stood as well. "I have to find her. Alone, Dean." He'd have to stop her. She'd smiled, almost sadly, when he'd last seen her. As if she knew what he'd do, but couldn't stop anyway. God, she'd had a great smile- somehow, you could see Ruby when she smiled, always the same, no matter what body she was in.

"Fuck that." Dean snarled.

Sam simply looked at him.

"No, Sam. I'm not leaving you with that psycho-bitch for one second." She'd dug her claws in deep. He could practically see the bleeding wounds. "Damn it, Sam. You're susceptible."

"No." Sam stared off into the distance a moment. "This is a path I have to walk alone."

Dean stared at him. His little brother was seriously freaking him out. That sounded like something Cas would say.

Sam met his eyes. "I need to you to trust me, Dean. I know I haven't given you much reason to- but I just-" He took a deep, shaky breath. "Let me do this alone."

Dean studied him for a long moment. Sam could see him thinking, _do I trust him enough to do this? And can I stop him if I'm wrong?_ "All right, Sam." He said quietly. "All right."

************************************************************

She was waiting for him, when he found her, in the dying husk of a building on the outskirts of the city.

Ruby lounged regally on a sofa, ancient and rotting, in the middle of the room. As he slipped through the main door, she called out, "Hello, Sam. I wasn't sure if you'd be coming back."

He was silent. She noted the Colt he held loosely in one hand, and nodded. "So that's how it is, is it?" She stood, at that, and stepped back into the shadows, vanishing from view.

Sam went forward in the mustiness cautiously, doing a slow sweep of the room with the gun. He wove in between crates and boxes, stacked precariously, and just about everything you could care to name, including the kitchen sink. All the lost things in the world must end up in buildings like these. Rather fitting then.

"After all we've been through, everything I've done. This is what you want." Ruby's voice rang out from the darkness, making him jump. "It is what you want, right Sam? Cause, it's not too late. You could still come with me."

"You fight your nature so hard," she whispered, so close, he turned but he couldn't find her. "It must have been rough, all your life, a freak. Alone. But it doesn't have to be that way." She waited in the silence. "Is it your faith that's holding you back?" She said scornfully, then paused. "Or is it your brother? It is, isn't it?" Her voice softened.

"Don't you get it, Sam? He's with _them_." She sounded frustrated. "He's your _keeper_- and you terrify him. Damn it, what do you think will happen? Sam, Dean won't protect you anymore. He'll just step aside and let the angels do what they do best."

"I'm not so sure they shouldn't." Sam yelled, as he picked his way through the abandoned building, the Colt heavy in his hands.

"Oh, Sam." She stepped in front of him out of nowhere. He backpedaled. "Is that what you really think? Because they _will_ kill you. For no other reason than you scare them. Let me help you, Sam. The angels, they aren't what you think. They aren't noble, or virtuous. They're_ pure_. And they hate anything that isn't. "

"I've seen what demons do. Are you going to try to tell me that you're the good guys?" He snorted, raising the gun. She whirled to the side, and vanished again into the gloom.

"I never claimed we were. Come on, Sam," She challenged, "I taught you better than that. You've seen what humans can do, too. Angels. And they weren't born in Hell." He tried to pin down her location, her voice echoed oddly. One moment she seemed to be speaking from his shoulder, the next she was someplace completely different.

"Think of it, Sam. God gave humanity paradise in exchange for eternal obedience." She called down from a walkway somewhere above. He could hear her boots on the metal, the sibilant hiss of dust sifting down from above. "Lilith herself was cast out simply because she would not abide, and it twisted her. He gave you life, but we gave you _fire_... A choice, and we were punished for it. For sharing knowledge. And power. Passion and darkness. You _know_. We made you what you are." She laughed, and then, somehow much closer, she said softly, "Just as God made us, what we are." _Think of that when you pray._ He whirled to find her voice, but she was gone. She was playing with him.

"Did you really think it was just good and evil here? Angels and demons? Think that God is just some happy-go-lucky Santa Claus?" She snorted derisively, her voice becoming darker, and more bitter.

"But you're right, Sam, I could be lying. I can't be trusted, after all. You humans, you think you've got a beat on things, with your bibles, and your little temples. _You haven't got a goddamn clue._" She snarled, appearing from the side, shoving him to the floor hard.

Her eyes were shining, as if she were crying but they were so dark... She kicked the gun out of his hands, and stood over him. "I've seen God, and I've seen Hell. He is _wrathful_. And He is bloody. You're not a kid anymore, to be believing in fairy tales. This is just another lesson. It's time to wake up, Sam." She stretched forward a hand to him, to help him up or finish it, he didn't know. You could never quite tell with Ruby.

"Yes, it is," Sam said. He focused, the way she had taught him to. It wasn't difficult then, to get a grip on her soul, to hold her still. One arm extended, he stood, taking the Colt in his other hand. It was damned easy, as he lined up the shot. And it felt good. Powerful. It felt natural, and right, and too horrible for words.

"I stopped believing in fairy tales, Ruby, a long time ago." Somewhere around the time he had found out there was such a thing as demons in the world.

Ruby gave him a knowing, one-sided smile, but her face was sad. "You always did get a little too close for comfort, Sam."

He pulled the trigger. He felt the fire of it, racing like an electric shock as it burned her soul from the inside out. To dust.

She stumbled, and began to fall. The gun clattered to the ground the ground as he dropped it. Sam caught her, and together they dropped to the dirty concrete floor. "Ruby." He said, a little desperately. "Ruby." He held her to him as blood ran through his hands and began to pool, dark and scalding.

Steam rose in billowing clouds from the gathering liquid. The body reacts poorly to being possessed- like acid and water. Fevers are a typical reaction, and the blood is hot. But the air was cold, anyway, so cold. Her eyes went first- like they do in people- the black draining away from them like tears, clearing as if it had never been.

There was the faint scent of sulfur in the air, and gunpowder, and something sweeter, vanishing. She was gone.

And then he was holding another dead girl in his arms- covered in her blood- a stranger... who looked like a demon he used to know once, but not quite. He sat there with her, alone on the killing floor next to the smoking gun, in silence, until his brother came and found him. It wasn't long.


End file.
